


a person can be a home

by mollivanders



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon Universe, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 20:18:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9458870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollivanders/pseuds/mollivanders
Summary: The first kiss comes quick, a burst of lifetimes in a single moment, an act of defiance against an unjust end. It comes unexpectedly, not at the end on Scarif, but in the midst of a mission on Mon Cal that they barely escape from with their lives.(Later, she will remember this. She will remember the rough touch of his beard, the sweet taste he leaves on her lips, and how her heart keeps pounding long after they’ve escaped.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this off and on for a week and can't stare at it anymore. What started out as a fluffy excuse for Jyn and Cassian to kiss each other all over the Hoth base turned into a character study and found family for Jyn, Cassian, and Bodhi. I can't stop myself, apparently.

He’s been tired all his life, he thinks.

(But not around her.)

Around her, his body hums alive.

+

The first kiss comes quick, a burst of lifetimes in a single moment, an act of defiance against an unjust end. It comes unexpectedly, not at the end on Scarif, but in the midst of a mission on Mon Cal that they barely escape from with their lives.

(Later, she will remember this. She will remember the rough touch of his beard, the sweet taste he leaves on her lips, and how her heart keeps pounding long after they’ve escaped.)

The flight back to Hoth is tense afterwards, broken only by K2’s unwelcome comments. When he comes back to the passenger bay to update her on the landing, he lets K2 land the ship, standing in a corner and watching her, expression torn between the dutiful officer and something more hopeful. She is only just learning to read him, but all she can think about is landing, escaping to the safety of her quarters, and getting some space to clear her head.

At least, that was the plan.

(Instead, she and Cassian stumble into an empty supply room three halls over from their bunks, a sudden heat overwhelming the chill of this icy planet.)

+

This new secret between them is strange and unsteady and very, very welcome but she has no reference points. She’s never stayed anywhere long enough to call it home, and no partner she could call her own, but with every day that slips by with her still in the Rebellion, she starts to feel a little less like a stranger in a strange land and more like someone she might have been, could have been.

(She wakes from a nightmare about Scarif, his words lost in the roar of the Death Star’s destruction, and steadies her breathing with a simple repeated phrase. 

_Welcome home. Welcome home. Welcome home._ )

When she sees him in the canteen line the next morning she wants to grab him – hold him tight – but all she can bring herself to do is to clasp his hand tight, her knuckles turning white.

“Bad dreams?” he asks, and it must be written all over her face, dark circles and raspy breathing, so she swallows her answer and nods curtly. His grip on her hand tightens and his voice drops to an octave she’s comfortable with to whisper “You’re not alone, you know.” He winces suddenly, as though he’s overstepped, and waits for her reaction.

She doesn’t snap, she doesn’t run, and she doesn’t break contact.

It’s a start.

+

There are many, many eyes on the heroes of Scarif, eyes that follow them from war room to canteen to their quarters. There is no malice, but it’s still terribly inconvenient.

(Fortunately, one of them is a trained spy.)

He'll find her suddenly, without intent or expectation, after she’s done with a training session for new recruits, or after he’s debriefed the council on new intelligence. They share a small, secret smile, falling into step together as other rebels throng towards a meal or out to new missions. The first time he draws her into a disused supply room, her stomach flutters like she’s sixteen again. He doesn’t speak for a moment, watching her closely, before shaking his head.

“Is this –” he pauses, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, before stumbling over his thoughts and he seems afraid to refer to himself at all when he does. “Is this something you want?”

(She can hear the questions behind that one, the questions they can’t ask just yet. _Him. Home. The rebellion._ )

She steps closer to him, her breath coming in cold puffs, and rests her hand against his chest.

“Yes,” she manages, a smile pushing past the larger emotions she can’t name. A smile breaks across his face in turn and she stands on her toes, trying to reach higher for a kiss, when he drops to meet her, a rush of emotion making her head spin with the softness of his touch.

“I’m glad,” he murmurs against her lips, the kiss stretching out in a taut line as she leans in to him, swaying on her toes, and a laugh escapes him.

“You’re too tall,” she grumbles, dropping her heels. He’s flushed and smiling and a knot in her heart unwinds, just a little.

(She’s never seen anyone so beautiful.)

“I have a solution,” he says, grinning as he carefully walks her backwards. “I’d love to see it,” she says, bemused until he suddenly lifts her on top of a supply cabinet and she finds herself at his level. “Better?” he asks, his hands going to her hips as he trails kisses down her throat. Her eyes slide shut as she tilts her throat back and she can’t remember ever feeling this safe and vulnerable before.

“Better,” she says, sliding herself forward against him and grinning at his response. “Much better.”

+

Hoth is both too small a base for them to avoid each other and large enough for them to elude prying eyes. Still, it’s hard to keep a secret on base, something he knows better than most as an Intelligence officer. There are too many people in too close quarters, too many eyes trained to notice covert activity, too many people whose survival depends on _noticing_.

(It makes what secrets people do keep all the more valuable.)

Besides, he mostly understands her need to stay in the shadows. It was her life for so long, a life she survived more than lived, and perhaps he can understand that need better than most. It doesn’t help being branded heroes, where every time they enter a cantina someone buys them drinks, or anytime they enter a hangar soldiers are throwing up hasty salutes and snapping to attention, or one of the recruits Jyn is training scrambles to attention in the canteen. After Jyn, Bodhi is the most uncomfortable with the extra attention, though he’s pretty sure Chirrut enjoys it the most and Baze the least.

So they keep some secrets to themselves.

(Well, they try. Bodhi busts them in less than a week, and he supposes he’s mostly to blame with smiles as wide as a Hutt anytime they’re together, but it’s Bodhi. Bodhi is family.

To hell with everyone else.)

+

They are new at this and it shows like scratches from a hard fall.

(They are very, very new at relationships they can trust, that don’t crumble under their feet, that don’t expect something in return, that last.)

Sometimes it shows _badly_.

She forgets she can comm him when she needs to, or that she can sit next to him at meetings and meals without question, or that it’s okay to slip into his quarters without asking. She has always had to ask – to fight – for what she wanted in her life, and it takes getting used to.

(She _wants_ so, so badly. She has never wanted so much, has never _let_ herself want anything so much that an ache forms in her chest.

It takes practice.)

Still, they’re learning.

+

“You have quarters, you know,” Bodhi says when he catches them stumbling out of a council room long after everyone else had left. “They assigned them to us when we got here.”

Cassian shrugs, looking at Jyn, ready to follow her lead of denial or indifference. There’s a loud silence and then –

“Bunks are too far,” she answers smartly and Cassian can’t stop a laugh from escaping him, catches her eye and then it spreads, Bodhi looking them in exasperation. “Canteen?” he asks, trying to regain control of the situation. “I’m meeting some other pilots there.”

“Yeah?” Jyn asks and Cassian, the casual liar, catches something in her tone. “Anyone in particular?”

He swears Bodhi is blushing under his uniform but the other man just shrugs in response and Cassian wonders what, exactly, he is missing when he is so happily occupied otherwise.

“You coming or not?” Bodhi asks and they nod, Cassian’s stomach rumbling loudly in the hallway. 

(He’s worked up a bit of an appetite.)

+

Six months after Scarif they land an offworld supply mission and where normally Cassian would be bored stiff buying groceries for the rebellion, it’s as close as the rebellion can offer to actual shore leave. 

Plus, he likes watching Jyn work. She knows how to size up a merchant, knows how to tell the quality of goods by the storefront, and somehow makes it look as though she has nothing better to do that afternoon.

( _Criminal_ , he thinks fondly. _Smuggler._ )

They stay on Rishi for a whole three days, a supply run turning into a chance to recruit some professionals to the rebellion, and he books them a room in a building whose price won’t make Draven boil with outrage. There aren’t many perks to being an officer, but there are some.

“Cassian,” she says the next morning over a hot caf, her eyes sliding closed with pleasure, “remind me to thank you later.”

“You don’t have to wait, you know,” he quips back, stealing some her jaffi fruit while she’s not looking, and her eyes open with a glint he’s not sure how to gauge, that could be either challenge or promise.

“Oh, you can wait,” she says confidently, and goes back to her caf.

(It ends up being a very, very long day.)

+

There are other romances, of course, on a rebel base. There are too many soldiers crammed into too small a space, cut off from too much of the outside galaxy, for attachments not to form, for romances not to blossom and fade as fast as a Corellian rose. Rebels have learned to live, love, and die in the moment.

But this is different.

“What made you decide to stay?” he asks one night, protected by darkness and the fact that she is curled beside him. He’d given her the code to his quarters long ago and they both sleep better for it.

“Here?” she asks, and he hears the confusion in her voice as she turns over to look at him. Sudden nerves build in his chest, raising an issue he’d thought was settled. He clears his throat. “With the rebellion.” 

( _With me._ )

“Oh,” she says, turning back over and resting back against him, making his heartbeat stop its smuggler’s space race for a moment. “I thought you knew.”

“You could have left,” he says, his voice muffled by her hair and she shifts back, closer. “After Scarif.”

(He might have survived that. He’s survived other losses, though he’s not sure how he’d survive now.)

“You should know,” she says quietly, and he has to strain to hear her, “how much I wanted this home.”

It never comes up again.

+

It turns out that the Hoth base is as much a maze as the Yavin IV temples ever were, without the advantages of pressing heat and open outdoors. 

It also means there are a myriad of places to get lost, so she practices trust and lets herself follow Cassian past busy tunnels and briefing rooms. Their steps quickly fall in sync and by all appearances they are on their way to a briefing or patrol or some other official duty.

( _Spy_ , she thinks warmly as he swiftly pulls her into a supply bunker.)

It’s cold even inside the base, but the moment he’s caught her between the wall and his body, the officer’s authority he wears like armor falls away to a lover’s gaze, quickening her heart.

(Her body thrums near him, _alive, alive alive_.)

“Captain,” she says, meeting his eyes, and licks her lips involuntarily.

It has the desired effect as he drops his mouth to hers, his hands framing her face as she pulls him closer. “You’re shaking,” he comments, breaking the kiss briefly before pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Cold?” She hums softly, tugging him closer for another kiss and gasps in surprise as he lifts her against his waist.

“Warmer now,” she answers, steadying herself on his hips and sliding her arms under his coat, burrowing against him. It seems he is warming up as well as he kisses her again, his mouth falling open at her touch as she shifts against him. She mumbles something incoherent when he licks the roof of her mouth, a distant ache becoming a pressing roar, here, _now_ , and she suddenly bucks against him. He breaks the kiss again, letting her catch her breath as he shifts his grip on her legs, his forehead pressed to hers. 

(She can actually feel her guard slipping, can feel this becoming easier with each step.)

“Do you have anywhere to be?” he asks in a low voice, dropping feather kisses against her lips as she reaches for him, eyes sliding shut. “Not anymore,” she answers, floating somewhere far, far away from Hoth and the rebellion and the press of people on this base.

“Good,” he answers, his voice ragged with want, and kisses her again.

There’s not enough time.

(There is never enough time.)

+

She brings Bodhi some meal rations one afternoon – he seems to miss meals at the canteen far too often – when it comes up. He’s making repairs on top of an impounded cargo shuttle and she insists on eating with him, their feet dangling over the side of the ship.

“You know,” Bodhi’s voice trails off openly, thoughtfully. “You almost seem to fit in here now.” He turns bashful, smiling down at his lunch to avoid her open stare. Bodhi, who used to jump when people dropped salutes at him, has relaxed into the rebellion.

She almost envies him. 

“What do you mean?” she asks, tamping down an old instinct that screams to run, to drop all ties, at the first sign of belonging. He shrugs and tears off another tasteless bite of his rations. 

“I mean,” he says around the mouthful, “you don’t always look like you’re getting ready to run anymore.” She swears to the Force that his eyes kriffing _twinkle_ when he swallows and says, “I wonder why that is.”

She’s going to shove him off the ship, she really is.

“I wonder,” she grits out before swiping his second ration bar and tearing it open. He leans closer, bumping her shoulder. “Seriously,” he says, realizing he’s set off twelve old alarms in Jyn’s head. “You’re great with the recruits, the Pathfinders think you’re okay, you seem good.”

She finishes chewing before answering, letting him worry for a second. “I guess I am,” she allows, and he grins again, setting aside his half-finished meal. _He still doesn’t eat enough_ , she thinks and feels briefly guilty about swiping his ration bar. 

(Some things never change. Others, not so much.)

“See you in the mess hall?” she asks, swinging down the ship and catches his eye as he returns to his repairs. “Cassian and I’ll be there.”

He grins knowingly and she ought to go back up there but he nods. “Yeah,” he answers, already distracted by the ship.

(Some things never change.)

+

Sometimes he doesn’t see her all day. Sometimes he doesn’t see her for days when the Council sends him offworld with K2 doing something, anything besides patrolling this frozen chunk of ice or meeting with Draven about the limited intelligence he’s been able to gather stranded here. He hates dealing with high command, hates being trapped on this frozen world that’s even colder than his first home.

(Well – he hates _almost_ everything about it.)

But every night on base, even when he hasn’t found her wandering the halls or training recruits, she slips into his quarters, wakes him from tense dreams to the relief of her sliding next to him under the thin military-issue blanket. “You stayed late,” he says quietly as she turns to face him. It’s hard to think about sleep when she’s shifting herself closer with a hand on his hip. She looks exhausted though, and he knows they both need rest.

“Doesn’t kriffing matter,” she says, her head hidden against his chest, and he hears the catch in her voice. _Bad day_. He slides an arm around her back and sighs softly as she pulls a fraction closer. He knows her well enough now to wait, to let her find her voice, and after a moment she releases a long breath. “Kurron’s team went missing,” she murmurs. He flips through his mental inventory and remembers – an early recruit, brash and reckless, and still just a kid.

But there’s really nothing to say, nothing new to add that she doesn’t already know, except he wants to, so very badly. He tightens his grip on her, feels her do the same in turn, and shifts them slightly to look at her. “Tomorrow,” he promises, and it’s as much an oath as a comfort. It seems to help though, or maybe that’s the helpless kiss he drops at her crown. Either way, she relaxes in his arms and her eyes slide shut.

(Some days, all they have is tomorrow.)

+

Ever so slowly, they’ve stopped hiding, stopped holding back until they’re alone, and stopped worrying about protecting something whose nature they were uncertain of. A year after Scarif, they stop keeping separate quarters, and though it’s as sparse as their individual quarters had been, Bodhi gives them a thick Mantellian blanket.

“Chirrut was going to get you a plant,” he says, leaning against the door to their quarters, “but I thought this would transport easier.” Nobody is supposed to know they are starting to scout for the next rebel base, but Bodhi knows. Bodhi, after all, is family. 

Cassian shakes the blanket open over the cot and Jyn sits on it, running her hand over the blue and white weave, savoring the softness and weight. “This is better,” she says firmly. “Yes,” Cassian says. “We would have killed a plant.”

Later, walking to the canteen, Jyn bumps into Cassian, drawing his stern gaze.

(Some things, she thinks, really never change.)

“Hey,” she says, her voice a conspiratorial whisper, “I think there are some supply rooms down this hall.”

He grins, the worry lines melting away as he looks at her, and her heart thrums alive at his playful response.

(They’re late for dinner. Again.)

_Finis_

**Author's Note:**

> I’m just making up Star Wars phrases here. I have no defense but I do like the sound of “wider than a Hutt” and “bloom and fade faster than a Corellian rose”. Also, _“Plus, he likes watching Jyn work”_ is a direct homage to _Children of the Jedi_ where Leia likes watching Han work the spaceport crowd. I have a ship type. I'm [ladytharen](http://ladytharen.tumblr.com/) over at Tumblr if you want to flail about Star Wars.


End file.
